


Aim

by Jathis



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fibro Cecil, Native American Cecil, POCecil, Trans Carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil has gotten better at hitting the Apache Tracker over the years</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aim

Carlos loves their trips over to the diner, even if he’s still curious about how exactly the check can suddenly appear by just whispering for it like that. He was always given a sweet look from Cecil whenever he asked, making him feel like a child asking why the sky is blue or the grass is green. The food is good at least and he doesn’t really have to wonder or worry about where it came from.

Right now he’s sitting across from Cecil and smiling as he lets the other tell him about well he had done negotiating with Station Management. The radio host seemed to have no qualms talking about how well he had wielded his cane, slamming it against the door as he barked out his demands, ignoring the garbled snarls and hisses coming from behind it. He was smiling, speaking enthusiastically while gesturing with his hands.

Suddenly Cecil stopped speaking, sitting up a little straighter in the booth. He narrowed his eyes and snarled as he snatched up the salt shaker from the table, standing up and leaning heavily against the table. “Asshole!”

“Huh?” Carlos blinked at the sudden change in attitude and he turned to see what Cecil was looking at. The Apache Tracker had just entered the diner. He had once been a white guy walking around in the racist costume of a Native American but had one day suddenly returned with his race completely changed and only able to speak Russian. “Cecil! Don’t!”

“YOU’RE NOT A NATIVE AMERICAN!” Cecil screamed, hurling the salt shaker at the Apache Tracker’s head. He managed to hit the other in the temple, knocking his headdress off again.

“Сука!”

“Cecil!” Carlos hissed.

“I don’t care,” Cecil grumbled, sitting back down heavily, the gems of his cane flashing wildly in bright reds, “I don’t care how it happened but he is  _not_  one of  _my_  people!”

“Cecil, we didn’t bring your chair. Don’t stress yourself too much,” Carlos whispered, reaching out to take one of his hands, giving it a gentle squeeze. He rubbed his thumbs against the other’s knuckles and waited until he could feel him relax before letting go, offering him a small smile. “…It was a good throw though,” he confessed.

He perked up at this, smiling wickedly as he straightened up a little. “You think so?” he asked.

“Hit him before he even realized it.”

Cecil giggled, hiding his face behind a hand.





End file.
